


Deduce and Dine.

by rhosgotskulled



Category: Hanlock, Hannibal (TV), Hannilock, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BBC Sherlock - Freeform, Cannibalism, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, Hannibal - Freeform, Murder, hanlock - Freeform, hannilock - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-30
Updated: 2013-06-07
Packaged: 2017-12-13 09:34:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/822785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhosgotskulled/pseuds/rhosgotskulled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John Watson's Psychiatrist, Ella transfers John to a new psychiatrist, he is uneasy. Can he trust this man? When John first meets the charming Dr Hannibal Lecter however they immediately hit it off. John find's that Hannibal's presence reminds him of his deceased friend Sherlock Holmes, whose 'death' he is still grieving over. John and Hannibal's relationship soon grows under the keen eye of Sherlock Holmes, who has followed Hannibal from the US in suspicion he is involved in several murders. He tries to warn John about Hannibal all without unveiling himself. But can Sherlock save John before it's too late?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One.

**Author's Note:**

> So I haven't written fanfiction in a while and I started writing as soon as I got the idea. I hope my characterisation of Hannibal is good. I haven't read any of the books yet but my character is completely based around NBC's Hannibal, played by Mads Mikkelsen. I hope John sounds well too. I'm more familiar with John Watson, of course played by Martin Freeman. Thanks for reading and please review! :)

It started when John returned to seeing his former Psychiatrist, Ella. When he thought he suffered from posttraumatic stress disorder after his injury from fighting in Afghanistan he had been recommended to try therapy. It was funny how back then he always knew it wasn’t about the war that distressed him, it was being back in Britain, with no purpose, barely able to walk without his cane, or drink a coffee without his hand shaking. From the moment he had met Sherlock Holmes the void missing from his life had been fulfilled.  
Now the void had returned in John’s life, the gaping hole now even larger from the influence Sherlock had in his life, and he missed it. Actually, he missed him.  
This was to be John’s fourth meeting with Ella since his best friend’s passing and even though barely anything had changed in his life for the last 3 months he still liked her company and how she listened, even when John couldn’t think of a single thing to say, as he usually kept what he thought to himself.  
John, now in his comfort zone, relaxing in his seat he was beginning to find the meetings more like a friendly chats with a friend, but what Ella told him then absolutely shocked him, and hurt him a little.  
“John I am afraid I have decided to transfer you to a different psychiatrist. I find our familiarity with each other has developed a less professional relationship.”  
“Right, ok.” John replied, sitting up in his seat and not knowing what to think. Had she grown tired of him? Was he simply being too needy?  
“I hope you don’t misunderstand me, John. Though I value you as a patient I do think certain areas around your situation-“  
“My situation?” Had he missed something? Had John been attending these meetings in a different purpose now? Was he coming here to seek solace and advice from a friend rather than a psychiatrist? Was he still lonely? Was he still grieving? He sensed he had been pining for a certain friendship in Ella he had lost 3 months ago as he stood hopeless next to St. Bart’s hospital.  
“I’m transferring you to a man I have known in the practise for some time now and he has recently moved to London from the US. His name is Dr Hannibal Lecter, he has had a history of patients who have worked in environments such as crime and investigation. I think he would be more suitable to take on your case as he has more of an insight than I.”  
“I’m no longer working in the crime field, Ella. I used to but you know I don’t do that anymore.”  
“John, I want you to return to your medical practise and the quicker you to resume with work the easier it will be for you to move on.”  
Move on.  
He had wondered when those two words would crop up into the therapy sessions. It was not like he had heard the same phrase from his sister, or Donovan or even from Mycroft.  
John said his goodbyes to Ella and thanked her for everything she had done for him in the last 3 months of his life and the time 2 years before. As he left her office his left hand began to tremble at his side and he paused mid-step, looked down upon it and willed his hand to stop, clenching it into a fist.  
He wondered about this new Dr Lecter, his appointment had already been arranged by Ella and next week was his first introduction to him. The name seemed exotic, more European than American. The last time John had met an American he was pointing a gun to John’s head. But the American did get his just desserts when he ‘fell out of a window many times.’ The memory made a pang in his chest. 

The building John Watson approached was a rather grand one, an Edwardian age building with separate flats inside, though the building appeared to be a single house. John double checked the address; this was the right place alright. He deduced that this Hannibal Lector sets himself some high standards. He grinned to have known what Sherlock would have thought of this pompous individual.  
He entered the lobby, similar to the Diogenes Club in many ways, it was certainly for high class civilians, and quiet too. He mused if two suited men wearing white gloves would approach him if he dared to walk any louder on the marble floor, he entered the lift.  
As he got to the fourth wall, the highest part of the building, a certain fear settled in his stomach. He did not know why but the air was colder up here. He sighed angrily at himself, for being so stupid and knocked the furthest door in the corridor, the raised fist shook and then tensed; before the door had opened it was back by his side. He looked up and saw the man on the other side of the threshold, his strange thin-lipped smile was friendly and his sharp suit left something even for Mycroft to be desired. He was a tall, handsome, confident man with the sharpest eyes. John couldn’t help but compare this first meeting to that of his first meeting with Sherlock. It was very similar; John was left intrigued by his good posture, the air of something different around Lector such as Sherlock carried and instantly John finally felt something that had left him return, that Sherlock Holmes’ shaped void now starting to rebuild itself.  
“Doctor John Watson I presume?” Yes, he definitely was European, Lector’s thick accent was softly spoken but John was now much more curious about this certain Doctor. Lector extended a gracious hand in greeting, John grasped with a firm soldier’s grip. “Just John please.” He confirmed.  
“I am Doctor Hannibal Lecter. It is good to finally meet you.” He held the door open for John to pass through and he did and marvelled at the office of Dr Lector. He certainly liked art, and fine art at that. John was slightly out of his comfort zone now, but he liked it. It sent a certain exciting thrill in his spine, the recurring pain in his shoulder and leg threatening him in the day had now subsided as Lector strode toward the two seats, John took the one nearest the biggest window whilst Lector sat in an armchair with a coffee table by its side.  
John was trying to think of something to start the conversation with but Lector had caught him to it.  
“I do hope the transferal was not insulting for you. Ella and I had met a while ago, and though confidentiality among patients is a strict code among psychiatrists, she did express some concerns about you in particularly. It appears your fame gave her cause for concern.”  
John raised his hands in a ‘don’t worry about it’ gesture and prevented himself from chuckling out loud when Lector had used the term ‘fame.’  
“Doctor Lecter-“  
“Please call me Hannibal.” Hannibal disrupted his voice and body language oozing charm, one thing that was not one of Sherlock’s fortes.  
“Hannibal, I understand you have moved from the US and therefor do not know about the blog or the case, so I am hoping for a clean slate, anything concerning this ‘fame’ is not needed in these sessions.”  
“On the contrary John, I find that your current state of mind and living is still affected by these events which occurred around this blog and relationship. Forgive me but I have researched you before this meeting. I’m afraid my natural curiosities concerning the mind and my history in criminology, your blog about ‘The Consulting Detective’ did strike a child-like obsession for me. I find you interesting Dr Watson; I am determined to help you. These are my only intentions.”  
The way Hannibal presented himself as an no nonsense, honest man who was really interested in his patients in a healthy, professional way made John realised he could trust him. Perhaps talking about Sherlock was a good idea, a cathartic experience. Indeed the man’s presence reminded John of Sherlock and it would be easier for him to discuss it to Hannibal than he could ever have with Ella. Hannibal’s experience in crime detecting would be of help to John, no need to explain too much about the technical affairs but also have a person who understands utterly about the feelings he felt and how Sherlock was different, how Sherlock was in his element on a crime scene.  
“Very well. Let’s do this then. Let’s…begin.” John tapped the leather on the arm rest of his chair rather anxiously now as he waited for Hannibal to begin, but there was still silence and it was only when John looked up from watching his fingers tapping the chair that Hannibal stood right in front of him with a smile on his face.  
“Please, I cannot bare awkward first appointments. Allow us to truly introduce ourselves over the table. I am somewhat an avid chef and I’d like to invite you for dinner tonight, I hope you’re not a vegetarian.”  
Now this man, someone he’s hardly knows invites him for dinner, of course it wasn’t like he invited John to a crime scene to help him, but he was encouraging John to eat, contrasting to the usual neglected John being left hungry as Sherlock often did. But he could not help but find that same satisfied feeling of companionship.  
The day was still young, John had been Hannibal’s first appointment of the day and John had just had breakfast, a measly buttered toast, so the promise of any home cooked food heartened him.  
He looked at him for a moment and also stood up, “Definitely not a vegetarian. That would be good. Yes, thank you.” He smiled.  
“I am glad. To let formality to get in the way of such appointments seems to me rather distracting.”  
John frowned a little, “Funny you should say that. Ella told me that I was becoming too informal, too friendly to be any help to myself in her appointments…but you seem opposed to that idea.”  
“Usually I do maintain a separation between my clients and I but has one small meal ever hurt anyone?”  
John couldn’t miss the glint in Hannibal’s eye as he said this and tilted his head and eventually nodded. “You’re right. I agree. “  
Hannibal smiled at John and gestured to John to sit down once again as he helped himself back in his seat, now with pad and pen in his hands.  
John began to feel a little uncomfortable seeing the pad and pen but the relaxing state of the strong structured face of Hannibal reassured him and he began after a deep breathe.  
“I know people don’t think I understand, but I do. I perfectly understand why I am like this, why I am still in this state of denial and stress. I understand I can’t trust anyone any more. My mistrust of people has allowed me to keep tight-lipped about myself and my feelings for some time. So I just want to warn you because I know why Ella transferred me. I was hoping I could trust her but she was drawing further away. I guess I was hoping she understood but…”  
John had started it now, had opened up the gate to something that had been caged within him for some time. And everything he was saying was being taken in by the still Dr Lecter. His pen barely made a scratch on the pad, no notes taken. He simply sat there and listened and John was thankful for it.  
Explaining the basic aspect of John’s life with Sherlock was mostly part of the first appointment, which John was certain Hannibal needed know, especially in John’s side of things. It was all too easy to find lies in the papers about Sherlock and his relationship with him. The nickname ‘Bachelor’ still stayed with John though he hardly read papers like The Sun anymore, not since one article.  
After an hour it was done and Hannibal had left John to recover slightly from all the talking. John watched him as he walked to his desk and scrawled in a note. “How will 8:30 here suit you, John?”  
John was firstly caught off guard by the question but quickly followed, “That’s fine by me.”  
“So you carry no other commitments?” Hannibal asked curiously, his psychiatry side getting the better of him.  
“No. I’m currently living alone, in a bedsit. But I have been house viewing, hoping to have a private surgery.”  
“How is that coming for you?” Hannibal seemed like he knew the answer but asked anyway.  
“Slowly. But hopefully it will start in the next few months.” Whilst John said this he held his left hand in his right and flexed it a little.  
“It sounds like you are confident in me. I am flattered but we cannot rush such things.”  
Hannibal led John towards the door and held it out for him.  
“Until tonight?” Hannibal said.  
“Until tonight.” John assured and with a nod with his head left the office, a new spring in his step as he headed towards the lift.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal prepares the evening meal for his guest, John Watson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading the first chapter everyone! I hope he's true to the character and I'm getting excited about the incoming chapters between Hannibal and Sherlock.

Hannibal closed the door very slowly behind him when his new client had left, a smile creeping across his face. He and John had very much in common; both were doctors, Hannibal did not practice in medicine of course, but he did work in a hospital in France for much of his early career. The wounds they both would have witness, the child deaths, the domestic abuse cases, the horror of amputations. Of course it had affected them in very diverse ways; Hannibal wanted to get inside people, into their minds, eventually leading him to getting people inside him too. John had wanting to save people, entering the army and now trying to save himself. Yes, very similar indeed.  
But Sherlock Holmes? Hannibal had known about him all long of course, since he arrived in the UK the press was filled about this ‘Suicide of Fake Genius.’ He did not think much about it at first, but then he had stumbled across a man he knew quite well. Moriarty.  
He knew of Moriarty, where Hannibal went the name followed, the underworld of crime was a place Hannibal played and he had gotten stuck in one of Moriarty’s webs more than once. But he had never met him. Such a shame, he thought, what an interesting specimen he would have been. To study the mind of a genius psychopath, maybe he would have even taken a taste of it.  
The coincidence of John Watson being Ella’s client was just that, a coincidence but an opportunity not to pass up. Hannibal had a talent of attracting special cases and he was glad of it.  
Sitting behind his desk once again, he flicked through webpages on his iPad, articles upon articles on Sherlock Holmes swept by, as well as ‘Richard Brookes’ fake C.V., John’s Blog when he finally settled on a new articles, only this was completely irrelevant to Sherlock Holmes, or it appeared it was.  
The article headline was this:

  
**_UNIDENTIFIED MAN UNCOVERS THE GHASTLY LOCATION OF THE BODIES OF MISSING LOCALS IN BALTIMORE, MARYLAND AND DISAPPEARS._ **   
**_Following the 6 month long search for 4 missing locals who have all contributed in the development of the City of Baltimore have been uncovered by an unidentified mystery man. Though it has been question whether the man was in fact the killer with a guilty conscience has been denied by the Police Department, with Agent Jack Crawford in this statement saying “We have complete faith in the civilian who discovered the crime scene, he was involved in the investigation in a small role but it paid off. He wants to remain anonymous however but let me assure you we will do everything to catch the culprit of these terrible, senseless murders.”_ **   
**_Now being coined as ‘The Maryland Angel’ the man, whoever he may be has given to rest to the souls that were lost by this murderer’s hand._ **   


John Watson was an intelligent man, but only a man like Hannibal, perhaps a darker mind like Hannibal’s can bring up the suspicion that Sherlock had faked his own death? Though Moriarty’s name sent chills up the spines of the lowest killers in the crime world, Hannibal could not help but feel disappointed. He was sure Moriarty had killed himself; many psychopaths with an obsession would cross that fine line sooner or later. Hannibal now wanted to carry on the game he had started but did not finish. He felt Sherlock Holmes on his tails; did Sherlock sense he was after John Watson? Frankly fate played a part in this cat and mouse chase Hannibal and Sherlock had found themselves in. Hannibal had been uncovered and threatened in his own comfortable living in Baltimore, now Hannibal threatened Sherlock’s own securities.  
Though the US was hunting down a wanted serial killer in the form of Hannibal here

Hannibal felt freer more than he had done in a while, a new Continent, new country, new city, new flavours. Even the threat from Sherlock Holmes added a thrill to the hunt.  
But what of John Watson? Hannibal surveyed the army doctor’s profile on the icon of his blog and frowned. He with carry on the therapy of course, John was Hannibal’s own security now. He knew nothing would happen to him if he kept close contact with Sherlock’s own Boswell.  
Hannibal’s rented rooms in the building had its own catering, a service Hannibal had not quite appreciated at first, not with his own passion for cooking. But an idea came across his mind, it was risky but it was the food chain.  
Rising out of his seat, he picked up the phone along with him and pressed a single dial, “Hello, room service. What can we help you with?” A clipped English accent from a young woman was heard on the other end of the line and Hannibal could picture her immediately, a perfect choice from the menu.  
“I would like a fresh pot of your fine coffee and the cheese board please, this time of the day I always struggle with the urge of hunger.” He spoke slowly for his accent had first been hard to understand with the English, followed by the smallest of laughs.  
“And anything else, sir?”  
“That would be all, thank you.” He hung up and headed to his walk in wardrobe. One side a railing full of his finest, most expensive, exquisite suits, the other side hung plastic overall, butcher aprons and wear. He picked the former.  
Usually Hannibal would not have been this reckless but if he was involved in a game he had not wanted to be in the first place he was still going to play along and try his best to win it. Besides, he had lots of free time before John Watson was coming around for dinner and he needed to prepare.

Hannibal had chosen the silent option; though he occupied the top floor of the building he was sharing it with another 10 to 12 residence. A swift break to the neck, first pausing to savour the smell of the fear that would emanate from her body but the plan was there.  
As he calm stood against the wall beside the door, a knock had sounded on the other side, as casually as if he was simply sitting at his desk he told the women to come in, the door was open.  
It did just that.  
The poor victim had barely looked around the room before Hannibal had approached her from behind. The tray she carried in her shaking hand clattered to the floor and Hannibal grabbed her from behind, one arm wrapped around her waist to hold her still, the other holding his head, close to the neck. He should have broken her neck then and there of course but he lingered, witnessing he reaction, her fear, her last moments of life.  
She didn’t scream, she couldn’t scream, his hand grasped around her mouth now and he whispered in her ear, “Listen to the blood in your veins, hear it roar up inside your head, feel your heart beating that blood.” And with the last of those strange words his hands have wondered to her neck and with one swift movement her neck had snapped. He held to her as she collapse and gently laid her out on a plastic sheet he had prepared in the next room. He wondered how soon people would notice her disappearance.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Hannibal finally meet, but not everything is so black and white.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. This chapter was very difficult to write and the actually chapter is shorter than I had hoped, sorry all.  
> I hope the situation seems possible within the two universes. Please let me know what you think. Thanks for the kudos so far! :)

When John Watson arrived on the ground floor from the lift he gave no attention to the security guard who stood at the entrance of the lobby. The guard was dressed in usual dark blue wear with a hat and John passed in without a second thought or glance. The Guard watched John Watson as he strode down the street, a contrast to how he had acted before, limping slightly, hesitant and heavy. This walk was confident and content.  
Losing the sight of John as he rounded a corner the guard turned his attention as one of the phones around the lobby rang, one of the small LCD lights on the wall which represents the flats in the building flashed on and off, and it was the light which represented Hannibal’s lodgings.  
Discreetly the guard moved away from the entrance, no one noticed him moving, no one truly notices the security guard, not in such a secured establishment like this. With a casual pace he left the lobby and took the stairs to the lower level where the staff’s rooms and kitchens were located, the room he was heading was the CCTV room where 50% of the room consisted of monitors showing area likes corridors and inside the lifts. Of course, the rooms the residence stayed in were private and did not contain CCTV cameras but the guard made sure tracked the whereabouts of Hannibal around the building at all times.  
When he entered the room he saw a bored, middle-aged, round security guard sitting with his feet up on the table barely keeping an eye on the monitors.  
“Catch a break Jimmy. I’ll take watch for you for a bit. Oh and coffee would be appreciated, thanks.” The guard told the bored man in his seat in his best cockney accent.  
The older guard appeared relieved, and raised some his seat and stretched his body out. He took the offer and left the room, leaving the disguised Sherlock Holmes in the room, putting his hat off and ruffling his dark curls, turned to the monitors and watched as the woman who had picked up the phone call in the lobby had now arrive with a silver tray on the fourth floor, heading down to Hannibal’s residence.  
Sherlock collected the footage, a reason he himself was unsure why he did but he took a disc and put it in his trouser pockets. He changed out of his disguise and placed his long, dark tweed coat on and rushed out of the room towards Hannibal’s, hoping he wasn’t too late. 

 

Hannibal was in his private living room with the body on the plastic sheet when he heard a crash in his office. Zipping off the plastic overall Hannibal patted and dusted his suit down before entering. Before him he saw a man he had never seen before but in pictures, he looked slightly different without the funny deerstalker but it was no denying he was staring at the world’s only consulting detective, Sherlock Holmes.  
It was an inconvenient time; Hannibal had to admit, to finally meet his coyote to his roadrunner, not with a dead girl in the next room.  
“Where’s the body?” Sherlock asked, as if he was asking what was on the television.  
“You realise you were too slow.”  
“I do realise. Even I would not have thought you would risk the newfound comfort you have found in London, but apparently you did.” Sherlock stepped towards Hannibal, his hands firmly clasped behind his back, over his long, dark tweed coat. Hannibal had to admit he liked it, he fancied a new coat, perhaps this very one.  
“Where is she?” Sherlock persisted.  
Sherlock had only seen Hannibal from afar, had even broken into his office in Baltimore, the grotesque sketches of reformed corpses Sherlock found made his suspicions on Hannibal obstinate, but standing before him now Sherlock could not deduce any malic from the man. His exterior image, his suits, his hobbies, his intelligence, his work all appeared innocent and entirely noble. The interior was trickier, Hannibal was a psychiatrist after all, and they had always been fun to work out for Sherlock.  
His face were groomed, shaven, suggesting pride in his appearance, smart and professional. His hair was slicked to the side, though greying he didn’t look old, the hair well kept, again pride in his appearance but without too much vanity. His hands were interesting; his hands were firm, his fingers still, and hands of a surgeon. Obviously he had not conducted surgery in a long time but he kept in practise in being productive with them, not hardwearing work, his skin was far too smooth and soft for that, but perhaps cooking? Yes cooking, the office suggested of high art and quality and noticing the many cooking books in the shelves cooking was his passion, well, half of it anyway. Moving onto the suit it was expensive and rare, the eccentricity in his style very much reflected his European identity, but he had never been brought up with this excess of finery and designer suits, so he was relishing in it. Troubled childhood, alone, tortured even. He wanted control in his life, this clothes, his appearance, control over his clients, over his food, over people. Sherlock half smiled, pleased at himself as if he had solved a very hard and long equation.  
Hannibal felt Sherlock scrutinising him and adjusted his pocket triangle. “I heard you do that.” He muttered softly. He continued, answering Sherlock’s question. “She’s in the next room, neck snapped cleanly. No blood yet but I made sure there was a plastic sheet to avoid staining. The managers would be suspicious.”  
Hannibal stepped away to allow Sherlock to see for himself. “Does it anger you that you did not save her?”  
“I was counting on it.”  
Hannibal looked at Sherlock, his eyes narrowing, fascinated.  
“If you wanted me arrested you would have done it days ago. Forgive me, I am happy to finally meet you, but I wonder why having known I was the Maryland killer you did not alert the authorities? And then pursue me back to your country in this lone attempt of personal vengeance?”  
Sherlock looked away, Hannibal’s psychoanalytic gaze being too much for him to hold. “Is it because you miss the chase?”  
“I wouldn’t be a detective if I enjoyed the chase, Doctor Lecter, I would be a criminal.”  
“Aren’t you though? All the papers say it. You are a fraud, Mr Holmes.”  
“Aren’t you? You live a life which is moulded around your obsession, your addiction. Supplying human meat shouldn’t be a doddle with all your business connections. From all over the world it seems too.”  
“We are two frauds’ who are hiding from society. We are not so very different.” Hannibal responded.  
“I already had a fan. He ended up killing himself.”  
Hannibal gave a small smile; a fan was not the term, perhaps empathiser? 

Sherlock walked past him briskly and entered the doorway to where the woman with the blonde hair lay, he had heard someone saying her name in the lobby earlier, he recalls. Sally was it?  
“This was clean for you. You usually like to display them like pieces of art.” Sherlock ignored the name dropping of John and observed the damage on the body, the poor neck twisted into an unusual angle.  
“I cannot help but notice you have yet to inform the police of this murder. I am unarmed, there is clear proof I did kill her, with clear intention, you can stop a lot of people getting killed and yet you waste time. Why?”  
Sherlock stood up, He turned towards Hannibal, his expression cold and hostile but Hannibal could see the desperation behind his clear eyes. He knew Sherlock prided himself in deducing people but Hannibal was no stranger to the method himself, reading people is what he does.  
“Because I require your help Doctor Lecter.” He finally confessed.


End file.
